his heartfelt calligraphy
by tunnelOFdawn
Summary: Natsume Takashi grows up as Matoba Takashi. In the dying world of the exorcists, for the spiritually strong, love is a scarce commodity easily warped by loneliness. Matoba Seiji falls in love; Matoba Takashi falls in doubt. There is nothing that Seiji will not do for his love.


**Growing up: 5, meeting**

A dying breeze shook off the last remnants of life from a tall, spindly tree. A brittle sea of reds and oranges blanketed the forest floor, illuminated by sunlight filtering through the bare patchwork of branches. The crunch of leaves beneath bare feet awoke that childish sense of mischief—that urge to stomp and stamp in leafy splendor with nary a care for the world. And so he, an amber-haired boy of five years, stomped and stamped his way deeper into the forest. Delight softened his pinched mouth and coaxed out giggles.

Laughter blended with the chirps of migrating birds and the rustle of leaves as animals skittered by. Yet, it was this laughter that ensnared another young boy with dark hair grown long. His eyes widened at the sound and were he furry and four-legged, his ears would have perked up. Papa had always told him to never go alone and without permission into the forest bordering their estate. But surely, he would forgive Seiji just this once. Seiji was always a very good and obedient boy, mama had told him.

Seiji walked into the woods.

There were an awful lot of branches and rocks strewn on the ground. Chubby face squished into concentration, Seiji dubiously eyed the ground as he avoided these natural hazards with all the grace and agility a five year-old could muster. So intent was he at walking without tripping that he scarcely noted that the source of the laughter began to dwindle. Some distance up ahead, Takashi's stomping and stamping came to an abrupt halt as he spotted the small form fast approaching him. Like a deer in headlights, he stood still in the learned expectation that the humans around him could be as cruel as the monsters that lurked in the shadows and preyed upon him in the dead of night.

The fleshy thud of collision and the resulting crunch of leaves snapped Seiji out of his inattention in the most jarring way possible. "Ouch," Seiji pouted as he gazed down into the chest of the boy who cushioned his landing. If mama were here, he would probably be crying because she gave the _best_ hugs (better than papa who was not as soft and squishy as mama was), but as it were, Seiji blindly poked the boy's squishy cheek. Then, with the lower half of his body resting on the boy, Seiji propped himself up on his hands and leaned forward.

"You should say sorry for being in my way," Seiji instructed with sage gravitas. That's what papa always said when mama wasn't there and he had ended up mowing Seiji down in a rush to do whatever grown-ups did like scribbling on scrolls of paper in special ink (special ink that Seiji was sure was grown-up speak for ink and papa's blood, which was weird but _well_ , that's grown-ups for you).

"Sorry," the blonde boy (kinda bony, actually) whispered.

With a muffled thump and crunch, Seiji rolled off the boy in satisfaction. He scooted a bit closer as he laid down, facing the very still and thus very boring boy. "I'm Matoba Seiji," he said. He smiled, sweet and dimpled.

At school, the other kids had already started to drift away from Takashi. Yesterday, a girl had called him a liar. He did not understand why she had called him a liar. Why…why couldn't they _see_? What sort of eyes do these people have that they are so blind? Takashi is no liar. Why does telling the truth hurt so much? Why…does it feel so _wrong_? Those other children, they play pretend and believe in the fantastical but they did not even dare to believe his truths.

Haltingly, he responded, "I'm…Natsume Takashi."

Their worlds were never the same after that introduction.

* * *

 **Growing up: 5, moving in**

"And this is my— _our_ —room," Seiji panted, tugging in Takashi by his hand into the room. Relinquishing his tight grip on Takashi, Seiji flopped onto his futon with a happy huff. "Mama took out that futon just for you!" he said, pointing his hand to the left. Their futons were set apart by a small distance, which Seiji had vehemently insisted upon before Takashi's arrival.

Takashi offered a tentative smile before gently plopping down on the futon. The duvet was very soft, he marveled, as he slid underneath. It was a nice change from his previous bedding—a mattress that hadn't been aired for quite some time, an old duvet worn thin, and a pillow lumpy from years of use.

For once, seeing yōkai had actually benefited him. Once Seiji's parents had realized that he was an orphan with the sight, they had offered to house him (he'd later learn that exorcists were enough of a dying breed that even then, the Matobas were desperate for new blood). Needless to say, Takashi had jumped at the chance to be with people like him with the sight. The sight! They called it the sight. They didn't call him a liar! And Seiji was very nice. And best of all, he had the sight too! And his mama was very nice too. And, and his papa— _well_ , he was kinda nice too.

* * *

 **Growing up: 6, learning**

Seiji's usual squirming and bursts of chatter was forcefully restrained by the ever disapproving eyes of his tutor, Nanase-san. The light reflecting off her glasses only served to highlight her narrowed eyes. In stark contrast, Takashi sat with an easy stillness, a hallmark of his previous conditioning in being unobtrusive. Six years old and the remnants of his life before his adoption still plagued him.

"Now, now, Seiji-kun, seal work is very delicate. A stroke too harsh or too messy will result in an ineffective seal," Nanase reprimanded. Seiji was the problem child of the two—headstrong and impetuous enough to drag obedient Takashi into his haphazard schemes. He was also terrible at sitting still. A terribly rambunctious boy.

"Yes, Nanase-san," Seiji said. Squishing his face into studied concentration, Seiji dipped his brush into the ink and began to stroke out the kanji from the book in front of him. A sliver of envy welled in him as, from the corner of his eye, he watched Takashi pristinely brush out his strokes. His hands were as light and gentle as a petal floating on a breeze. Takashi was good at that sort of stuff—being gentle and slow. For all that he was clumsy with people, he had a real talent for artistic endeavors, like pottery and now, the calligraphy of the arcane.

Takashi was the literal golden child of the house. His fluffy blonde hair and wide amber eyes had immediately endeared him to the household. His soft spoken manner and his gentleness had only enhanced the effect. He was always obedient and hesitant to cause strife. He was the serenity to Seiji's chaos. Ever since Takashi had been adopted, his parents had started cracking down on Seiji's rambunctiousness, comparing him to Takashi.

* * *

 **Growing up: 8, finding the book of friends**

Cardboard, plastic, and wooden containers piled together in a maze-like structure in the storage room. Dust lingered in the air and drifted onto their bodies. Dust clinging to eyelashes and their knees, Seiji and Takashi industriously walked through the room, periodically kneeling to inspect cardboard boxes and their labels. The label "Natsume Takashi" had eluded them for the past half hour.

"Seiji, maybe we should take a break."

"No! We can find it. You just have to be patient, Takashi," Seiji replied with all the hard-earned wisdom of an eight year-old.

It had been three years since Takashi had moved in with his single cardboard box of belongings. After his new parents had realized that the box was more sentimental than practical, they had moved it into the storage room for Takashi to access. Takashi hadn't looked at the box for nigh on two years. He scarcely remembered the contents and only conceded to finding it because Seiji was so insistent on there being hidden treasure. Seiji was insistent on a lot of things, Takashi had since learned with the sort of fond resignation that made him shake his head and still tag along.

Takashi trailed behind Seiji with a put-upon expression. Seiji gamely ignored his protests and continued his inspection. After a while, Takashi began to open his mouth to voice his protests again. He was quickly cut off by Seiji's voice.

"Takashi! Look! It's your name. 'Natsume Takashi.' Well, your _old_ name," Seiji corrected. Reaching up on the tips of his toes, Seiji wrapped his arms around the cardboard box and placed it on the ground. Plumes of dust rose up in a choking grey cloud.

Takashi's eyes widened and a doubtful "huh" escaped his mouth. Seiji shot him a baleful glance in the midst of a coughing fit before ripping open the cardboard box.

"You could at least try to be careful with my stuff, you animal," Takashi muttered longsufferingly. Nobody ever believed Seiji when he complained of how sassy Takashi could be. That was the true injustice of Seiji's world. He couldn't fathom how anybody thought Takashi was mild and meek. Mama even cautioned him to be careful when roughhousing with Takashi. Clearly nobody knew that Takashi had a very strong right hook and a blistering mouth.

With a huff, Seiji blindly plucked out a small green book with the yellowed look of old age. Takashi kneeled next to Seiji in a rare show of interest. "Book of Friends," Takashi read out. "Open it up, Seiji." Together, they flipped through the book and began to examine it in earnest. It was actually rather underwhelming. Each page just had a name in different handwriting. It really seemed to be just a collection of the names of friends, albeit quite a prolific amount.

"Grandma Reiko must have had a lot of friends," Takashi marveled, stroking the aged paper.

"She must have," Seiji agreed. He put down the Book of Friends once they had exhausted the list of names. With great magnanimity, he let Takashi go through the box. In the end, Takashi decided to keep the Book of Friends and a photograph of his smiling parents.

* * *

 **Growing up: 16, doubt**

"Are we doing the right thing?" Takashi asked. He stared at the stoppered jar in his hands.

"Why? Are you having second thoughts, _Matoba_ Takashi?" Seiji said with an arched brow. There was a curious slant to his mouth that Takashi could not decode.

"I…I just don't think that the yōkai deserved to be sealed. It was only a few tricks."

"A few tricks? You know how it is, Takashi, once they start acting up, they don't stop. It escalates. After all, wasn't that how we met? A yōkai starting to play tricks on you that grew worse as time passed by. Didn't you escape into the forest? Hoping to wait out that yōkai of yours? You know very well that you can't trust yōkai like that to roam free."

"But still…" Takashi muttered feebly. A twinge of wrongness resounded in his heart, like the vibration of a continuously plucked string. Seiji was right to some degree, but the yōkai hadn't escalated anything yet. Isn't prematurely sealing it akin to guilty before innocent? What the yōkai had done so far wasn't worthy of sealing, or at least in his opinion.

"Still, what? If you have doubts, then you're a liability. I can assure you, Takashi, you don't want to be a liability." The sharpness of a blade echoed in Seiji's voice, drawing blood in Takashi's heart. He never wanted to oppose Seiji. Seiji was his brother in all but blood, and even then, Takashi still carried the Matoba name. He was grateful to the Matoba family for taking him in. It was a privilege that he never felt he deserved.

Sixteen years-old and doubt seeped in the cracks of his mind. Soon, he will spring a leak and nothing will ever be the same again.

* * *

 **Growing up: 16, doubt at night**

"Seiji," Takashi whispered, "I don't think I like being an exorcist."

"Hmm, you don't think?" Seiji rolled over in his futon, facing Takashi. They still shared a room at 16, despite the empty rooms in the house. It was comforting to be in the same room. The house was too big for the both of them. Only a month ago their parents had perished in the line of duty—the sort of the duty the sightless could never recognize.

* * *

 **Growing up: 16, pawns**

"Hmm, it's only pragmatic, Takashi. If you can't get to the source, then remove everything in its orbit. What's a queen without pawns to play?" In a swift practiced motion, Seiji attached a seal to an arrow and nocked it on his bow.

"But they're innocent…" Takashi frowned, gazing down at the cluster of small yōkai. They barely had enough power to fill a thimble. They were just servants of a greater yōkai.

"I like to say guilty by association," Seiji laughed. Amusement was always a beautiful look on Seiji, Takashi thought wistfully. His eyes crinkled and his dimples surfaced. His laughter warmed Takashi from the inside-out. Yet, in this moment, repulsion twisted Takashi inside-out.

* * *

 **Growing up: 16, arguing**

"Don't look so horrified, Takashi."

"But you killed them. Am I supposed to be happy? We could have saved them! It was just a bad seal." Waspish and full of unease, Takashi backed a step away from Seiji. Sure, he had always been pragmatic, taking the most clear-cut route, but this seemed so excessive. It was a seal gone wrong on the yōkai that had drove them mad and inconsolable with pain. They could have saved the yōkai instead.

"Don't walk away from me," Seiji said lowly. "We're exorcists. We exorcise. That's what we do. We protect humans—not yōkai. Did you think we had time to waste in attempting to subdue it? Did you have a plan to stop it before it could continue hurting humans? Did you have a plan to subdue it enough that we could remove the seal?"

"We could have—" Takashi started.

"Don't be hypocritical. You didn't notice the seal either, did you? How was I supposed to know in the split second before it attacked that it had a seal on it? Was I supposed to stop in the middle of being attacked to look at it further? Should I not have defended myself?"

"No, Seiji, I didn't me—"

"Would you rather I have become injured? Me, a human, over a yokai? What's your priority, Takashi? We can't always operate on the basis that a yōkai isn't acting out of malice. All that we learned beforehand said nothing otherwise. So when it attacked, of course, I defended myself." Flared nostrils and heavy breathing destroyed Seiji's usual composure. By nature, he was not an outwardly expressive man. Takashi's eyes widened as he processed Seiji's words and demeanor. He had never seen Seiji so embittered and impassioned. So much pent-up emotion released in that volcanic explosion of words. The ash of his words settled heavily on Takashi's shoulders.

With a deep breath, Takashi dug out the wells of his conviction. He would not be cowed by Seiji's words. "Seiji," he said firmly, "I don't believe that exorcists should jump straight to killing yōkai. Yes, we should defend ourselves but not to the point of killing. We could have restrained it with another seal. We shouldn't be using seals to kill. We're exorcists, not executioners."

"Why do you side with the yōkai?" Seiji questioned, whiplash soft. His earlier anger was subsumed by his characteristic composure. His previously harsh voice had softened into silky smoothness. Serenity unfolded itself like the wings of a bird, ready for action. Weaponized calmness, Takashi would laugh in any other situation. "They're not human. They deceive and betray humans. You should know quite well, Takashi. They used to torment you. They used to make you think they were human and that you had friends of your own. But they weren't your friends, were they? They just made your life worse." Seiji was so stiflingly close by the end of his speech that their breaths intermingled.

"How funny," Takashi murmured after a moment of silence. He reached out a hand and gently palmed Seiji's cheek, fingers extended to brush against the edges of the paper seal on his eye. "How funny," he repeated, "that you think it's the yōkai that only lie. You were right. They made my life worse at times. But it wasn't just them. Humans too. In fact…" Takashi paused for a bitter laugh. Unsettling for all the bitterness inherent because usually, Takashi only exuded a quiet sort of misery and not this thorny bitterness. "Didn't your ancestor lie? Lie to a yōkai and look at you now, Seiji," he hissed, digging his nail into skin, "with a seal over your eye. A family tradition! How proud your ancestor must be. Everybody, yōkai and human alike, is able to deceive and betray."

* * *

 **Growing up: 16, escape**

"Where are you going, Takashi?"

"I…I'm just going for a walk. It's nice out."

"My, what an awfully heavy bag for such a short little walk."

"Uh—"

"Going on another midnight picnic with your little yōkai friends, hmm?"

"Oh…"

"Didn't think I knew, did you? Well, I suppose you better be off." _You're lucky I'm willing to humor your soft ways_ , Takashi interpreted. He supposed Seiji was willing to admit that jumping to exorcism on unallied yōkai wasn't always the best first choice. Pragmatic enough to realize you can't alienate the local yōkai community into action. Too much effort to wipe out, and to antagonize them just isn't smart in the long run.

"Yes…my picnic, I'll be going now then." Takashi couldn't believe that was all Seiji had noticed. A picnic. It would be a good excuse for his absence. And if that absence stretched a little longer than Seiji anticipated…well, Takashi would be long gone by the time he would realize something was wrong.


End file.
